


Never Hide From Me

by She_Who_Shall_Not_Be_Named



Series: Prompts [3]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Friendship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:10:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1968510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/She_Who_Shall_Not_Be_Named/pseuds/She_Who_Shall_Not_Be_Named
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Downtime on tour never goes as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Hide From Me

All things considered, timing couldn’t have been better. A massive typhoon forces them to cancel two shows:  the venues they’re supposed to play at get flooded and roads have been turned into rapids. Simply put; the whole area’s been severely hit. Having to cancel shows, no matter what the reason, always stings. As a musician, an artist, performing is what you live for. However, having to cancel these shows – the last two before they had a whole week off - is a blessing in the sky. Instead of having six days off, they now have eleven days of glorious times to themselves.

Some cease the opportunity and fly home; others plan a last minute getaway with their significant other. Some of them plan to team up and get themselves reacquainted with the whole full-tourist-experience. All in all, rockstar-downtime isn’t all that much different from the average Joe’s. Well, maybe not exactly the same, but still, very similar. There’s sleeping in – definitely lots of that, planning a sightseeing trip or two and lazing around the pool’s. On their list there’s also shopping; getting a new jacket _is_ mandatory. Period. There’s scuba diving, going swimming with dolphins, checking out a local band that, according to the hotel staff, is the new Metallica. They’re set up to get new ink; a matching tattoo symbolizing their bond and last but not least: finding a willing body, if possible, with a decent brain that goes with it and _getting laid_ , multiple nights in a row thank you very much.

On shopping day things don’t go as planned. They've barely made it to the first stop; a local fashion designer who’s more than willing to offer them a personalised fashion show. The first outfit is barely shown when the first symptoms show up: he’s chilly all of a sudden, his throat feels way too dry and he starts sneezing his ass off. By the time the show’s over, they both end up with a new jacket, he’s dead tired and more than halfway through the box of tissues that magically appeared at some point. "Would you mind if we go back to the hotel? Not feeling my best."  
  
He falls asleep on his shoulder on the ride back. Arrived at the hotel he's so drunk on sleep, the walk to his room happens in a blur. "Thanks, boo,” he slurs. “Don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there.”  
  
He's helped out of his boots, out of his jeans and out of his t-shirt when he starts swaying. “Hoody? Sweatpants?”

“Both.” Without as much as a fuss, once he managed to dress himself for the night, he gets guided to the bed and tucked in. On his nightstand half of their mandatory travel-pharmacy-kit is on display. He’s offered a pill, which he swallows without asking what it is. He trusts.  
  
“You're going to be alright?”  
  
“Mmm-“ he’s barely awake anymore, “- sweat it out, back on m’ feet by mornin’.”  
  
A nod. A kiss to his forehead. They’ve all gone through these 24h thingies one point or another, his usually happen after the second night of sleep in his own bed. Accumulated fatigue and touring stress can do crazy things to one’s body, especially when said body abruptly goes in full-relax mode. His phone gets placed strategically close. Let’s not even discuss jet-lag. "Text me if you need anything. I'll put up the do not disturb time sign just in case." Sleep’s the best medicine.  
  
Halfway through the night he's not getting better, not by a long shot. His head is being torn apart by a sledgehammer and his insides are being brutally rearranged. This is going to be one of those nights where one actually thinks death’s around the corner.  
  
He grabs the hotel's bathrobe and one of the green fluffy towels as he stumbles towards the toilet, panting from the effort this small walk took and covers his bare thighs with the bathrobe after sitting down. Doubled over with cramps, holding on to the bathtub for dear life and teeth chattering as a reaction to the pain he waits for shit to hit the fan. All pun intended.  
  
It goes on for what feels like, and probably are, hours. By the time his bowels calm down - there’s simply nothing left to leave his body- his legs are dead to the world and he’s hanging up the third roll of toilet paper. It has indeed been one of those nights. He feels like shit, no pun intended this time.

After what seems like forever, he manages to somewhat lift himself up and flush one last time. Not trusting his legs to carry his weight, they’re still half asleep; he crawls all the way to bed, falling asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Hours later, another wave of gut-wrenching cramps wakes him up abruptly. He feels like dying all over again. Against better judgement, he fights against his body’s reaction to the pain. Amidst all of this his phone rings; it’s _him._ Of course he picks up. He doesn’t manage a word; it’s a noise, harsh and weak all at once and barely louder than a whisper that escapes his lips.  
  
“Fuck! Hang in there, babycakes. I'll be right over.” The endearment, basically nothing more than a silly word, sooths his aching body in ways he cannot put into words. He’s about to say “don't bother”, but the line gone dead already. He knows better to argue over something so futile. It's what they do for each other and right now he needs someone, anyone for that matter to come and take care of him.

He doesn’t mean to count but he does. Barely forty eight seconds later he hears the door of his room unlock.  
  
When a hand touches his damp hair he can’t help lean in to the touch. “Hey, baby.” He’ll take all the comfort he can right now. "You look like shit.” There’s guilt and concern behind those words and undoubtedly blunt truth.  
  
It’s a pun he cannot miss. "Well consider I did just that all night, I'll accept the compliment."  
  
"You need anything at the moment?"  
  
"Yes. No. It hurts.” _You, I need you_ is what his mind screams out loud.

He hears more than he sees him walk over to the other side of the bed, feels the mattress shift and there it is; that what he wants the most. "Don't move too much, I'll scoot over to you." It takes them a few tries to find an ass-friendly and somewhat pain-free position. But it's worth it, he's resting comfortably, lulled back to sleep by the sound of a strong, steady heartbeat. _His_ heartbeat.  
  
When he stirs in his sleep, slowly waking up, he’s aware the other man’s getting out of bed. "Don't go anywhere. Be back in three minutes tops.”  
  
“Don't go anywhere? You're hilarious,” he deadpans, voice heavy with sleep.

“Dude, hilarious’ my middle name, now, be a good boy and stay put.”

True to his word, he’s back in a heartbeat, carrying his laptop, a small backpack and a t-shirt.

“What’s that?”  
  
“You're sick, boo. I'm staying here with you,” he says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world, like it is absolutely no big deal.  
  
“You should go scuba diving; I’ll be fine. You've been talking about this for days.” It’s one think taking care of someone and being the one who needs to be cared for. It’s hard for him. He doesn’t do well on the whole being sick thing. The saying sick men are worse than children is true, well in his case it is.

“What are you saying, man? You honestly believe just cause you're sick the ocean's going to dry out overnight?  
  
“No,” he counters. “But, you should go out and have-“

“This _is_ me enjoying my down time, baby. We're going to hang out, spy on our neighbours like a pair an old couple. Let me take care of you, babycakes. Let me.”

“I’m sorry.”  
  
"Hey, remember what you told me after I humped your thigh like a bitch in heat? You told me and I quote. _‘Don’t ever be sorry about anything you and me do, baby… Even this’_ Well, back atcha, dude. Don't hide from me ‘cause you’re sick." There's a finger under his chin, gently urging him to meet his eyes. "Whatever you need, babycakes." Hands cup his face, warm eyes meet his. "As long as you need me, I'm here."  
  
Pain isn't the only reason his eyes tear up; gratitude and embarrassment and a feeling of being treasured aren't exactly helping.  
  
And he is; _he’s_ there. The first two days are the worst. No matter what he eats, how ridiculously small that bite of toast is, he ends up curled in a ball, shivering, whimpering in pain, fighting against the inevitable. He holds him, offering comfort and whispering soothing words when he cries because the pain and the fatigue are just too much to bear. He never had a high tolerance for pain. He’s there when another wave of cramps appears to gently rub his tummy with thermal oil, the warmth does help some.

Curled up in his arms, under a mountain of covers, he falls asleep more time than he can counts. When he comes around, they watch his favourites I'm-sick-movies: Aladdin and Belle and the Beast. They joke about how he’s the Abu to his Magic Carpet, the Cogsworth to his Lumière.

He is the one who, smartphone no doubt at hand, goes off to the local pharmacy to buy him diaper cream for his burning butt when he’s sleeping. "Don't look at me like that, baby. You can barely lie down without flinching in pain, let alone sit. The reason I know it works is I use it myself when," he waves his hand around, "you know. It was my mom's secret cream when we were kids. Your ass may be all grown up now but it still appreciates the love and attention it received when you were little."

Neither bring up the appliance of said cream, personal boundaries and all, but, they both know had it been offered or asked, the other would have accepted, no questions asked.

The cream works though, magnificently well in fact. From now on, he’ll never leave for tour without it.  
  
When he no longer feels like dying he isn't pushed away. He doesn't take a step back, he's still there offering, providing anything, everything without thinking.

He's there when he falls asleep and he’s there when he wakes. Despite their difference in height, they fit, no matter who gets to be the little spoon or who sleeps on top of the other. When he’s the little spoon, _his_ arms are protectively curled around his waist, one hand resting over his heart. When he’s the one sleeping on top of the other man, he _always_ intertwines their fingers.  

On the third day - hallelujah - his body isn't fighting itself anymore and he discovers a plastic stool in his walk-in shower. He doesn’t even ask how it got there. "Figured you might want to take a shower, boo. You'll feel better. I'll leave the door ajar, in case you need me."  
  
"Would you mind-" he points to his hair.  
  
A bright smile. "Not at all.” He strips, right in front of him, _completely_. He washes his hair, sponges his back, even supports most of his weight when he gets up to wash his groin and his legs turn to jelly when he’s barely soaped up. While to most other men, it would feel strange or uncomfortable to be standing this close to another male friend to him it’s anything but. If anything, standing this close, totally in each other’s space is the most natural feeling for them.

It is so strange and yet so unbelievable humbling to have a bond so strong, so pure and intimate with someone who isn't your partner. When it is just _them_ , just _him_ , he doesn't have to pretend, not even for a micro-second, that he's fine or that he's whatever. He gets to be himself, _always._ No matter how high on life or how low on it he feels or is, _he_ is always there.

Eventually, they _do_ spend some time spying on their closest - non-human - neighbours: a couple of swallows building a nest in the far end corner of the patio. Being good hosts, they leave some eggshells and berries outside.

In the evening of the fourth day he feels reborn when he steps out of the bathroom; washed, shaved, tooth-pasted _and_ mouth-washed, ready to take on the world again. He's back.  
  
He's also _not_ ready to take on the world again, because taking it on means leaving _this_ : the place where it has been _them_ and only _them._  
  
"Well hi there stranger. Welcome back,” he greets, smiling bright and sincere, pausing whatever he’s watching.  
  
"I guess," he shrugs, aiming for causal.  
  
"How come?" It’s a fair question.  
  
Silence falls. Neither men moving, nor pushing, simply being, because just that, is enough. They stay like that, until he moves over to the bed, joining the other man, wordlessly pulling him into a hug. He needs, he wants, aches for contact, for _him_ , for _them_. Warmth and a feeling of completeness wash over him when he feels strong arms around his waist, giving back just as much. Unrefined, raw happiness; the best there is.

They stay like that for several minutes, blending into each other. Fingers run through his hair, guiding his head closer to the crook of the other’s neck. “Thank you,” he whispers softly, their faces almost so close now their lips could brush.

“Anytime, baby.”

The first touch of lips is gentle, a chaste thank you kiss. The second touch lasts a second longer than the first. The more, the longer they kiss, languid as if they have all the time in the world, not a hint of sexual desire in sight, the more he feels like he’s home.

Eventually, their kisses come to a stop. Foreheads pressed together, sharing the same air, he doesn’t dare to hope, doesn’t dare to even try to name, to label his feelings for the other man. He’s not in love, but he _knows_. He feels it; this man he’s holding close owns the key to his heart.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Not all, but some of the stories in this series will be way out of my comfort zone ... Comments are good. Comments help me grow as a writer. Don't be shy, worst case scenario I end up putting a curse on you :)


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